


baptism by fire

by juliabaccari



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, a little non-con-y because of nogistune possession, it's mild but jsyk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1343101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliabaccari/pseuds/juliabaccari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nogitsune targets what he thinks will be a great source of pain and chaos - Stiles's secret boyfriend, Deputy Parrish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baptism by fire

The nogitsune knows things about Stiles that none of his friends do. Knows abut the cracks in his armor, the secrets he keeps even from Scott, knows all of his anger and jealousy, and – love.

His romantic love for Lydia Martin is shallow, a surface pool that has been evaporating since Stiles began to see the girl as more than a goddess, more than an unattainable ideal. Instead, Stiles has formed a place for Lydia in his heart that is all friendly support and admiration and a deep respect for her. It is still love, but it is not the same.

Lydia Martin is not Stiles Stilinski’s weakness. Not exactly.

Scott McCall is certainly a weak point. He is a tender piece of paper-thin skin that would be so easy to tear; it’s easy to picture Stiles’s own hands around his best friend’s throat, as the nogitsune drinks in the discord, the friends’ shared pain.

But he knows an easier target. An unprotected gem of a target, whose surprise – whose agony – would be delicious. The nogitsune can picture shimmering green eyes, full of panic for the first time. He can hear a soft voice, strained in confusion and fear, struggling to retain its natural calm.

He can hear Stiles, within him, _screaming_ at him not to. But he’s not begging yet. The nogitsune needs him to beg – and his boyfriend, too.

Oh, secret boyfriends.

He’d never before thought of what a gold mine a pair of secret lovers could be. All the pain and betrayal, all the vulnerabilities.

After all, Deputy Parrish is just so…innocent…when it comes to the supernatural aspects of Stiles’s life. Maybe that’s why the boy likes him so much: a welcome respite from responsibility, from the insanity and the overwhelming risk of death if something goes wrong. Too bad he hasn’t learned his lesson though: keeping someone in the dark will never protect him or her.

“Stiles.” The deputy looks up at him in surprise as Stiles (well, his body, anyway) saunters into the station, straight up to the reception desk Parrish is perched behind. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

The station is mostly deserted: the nogitsune knows for a fact that the Sheriff is off dealing with a crisis (that he set up, of course) and has brought most of his men with him. The rest are doing extra patrols. “Stiles” helped his father arrange the schedule of those patrols this week, casually commenting that the new deputy really ought to have his chance to hold down the fort … all on his own…

“Lunch break.” The nogitsune lies smoothly, and grins, slow. He lets his eyes light up in the way he knows Stiles always looks at Parrish when they’re alone. He must get the expression right, because the deputy grins in response. His posture relaxes, even.

That won’t last.

“Me too.” Parrish answers, his tone playful, and he turns around to grab the “out to lunch” sign. He slides it onto the counter and, wordlessly, Stiles follows him to the evidence room. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this. Stiles has pretty clear memories of being with Parrish in the dark, quite room, back pressed against old cardboard boxes full of file folders. Even now, the boy is thinking about Parrish’s lips on his neck, and reluctantly remembering the press of his boyfriend’s hips against his own.

The nogitsune thinks he might be crying. Hard to tell, when he’s incorporeally trapped in his own mind.

Parrish shuts the door carefully behind them, switches on the dim overhead light, and smiles at Stiles. Then – he pauses.

“You okay?” He asks, and the nogitsune blinks in surprise. He’s sure his expression hasn’t slipped.

“I’m fine.” He answers in Stiles’s easy tones, and he reaches forward to grasp the lapels of Parrish’s uniform, tugging him closer. The deputy laughs. It sounds like a victory.

He runs a hand down Stiles’s arm, light, comforting. Sweet. Sickeningly sweet.

“You’ve been exhausted lately. I didn’t expect to see you today.” Parrish says, and bites his lower lip in concern. It’s horribly attractive. The nogitsune can definitely see why Stiles likes his little cop so much.

“I needed to see you.” The nogitsune attempts to explain. He doesn’t want to break his façade yet. “I needed to relax.”

Parrish nods, and lets himself be pulled a little closer. He doesn’t make any more protests as the nogitsune presses Stiles’s lips to his, soft and tentative at first like he knows Stiles always is. Still, he can feel Parrish frown a bit underneath his mouth. He can sense Parrish wanting to pull away, probably ask more questions, so he wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him in hard. He focuses on devouring him in this kiss. It makes Stiles in the back of his mind scrabble and claw, makes him yell and panic. Uselessly, but it’s amusing. It’s amusing and it tastes of a lovely desperate pain.

His back hits the wall. Parrish is pressed flush against him, and it’s nice, but not the kind of nice the nogitsune likes best. In one smooth (too strong) movement he flips them, and his hand ends up curled around Parrish’s throat, relaxed enough to be sensual (for now).

Parrish looks at him in surprise.

He grins.

It’s not Stiles’s grin.

A look of astute surprise flutters through those pretty green eyes.

“Stiles - ?”

“Not quite.” The nogitsune answers. His eyes darken, his grin deepens, cruelly.

“What…”

“You’re clever. Maybe you’re thinking he’s finally snapped. I mean, he told you he’s dying, right? His brain’s decaying – eating itself. How tragic.” The nogitsune clucks its tongue, mocking. Stiles hasn’t told Parrish anything about the MRI or its results. Parrish isn’t stupid, though, and he’s not inobservant.

“What are you talking about, Stiles? Your insomnia – “

“ _His_ insomnia.” The nogitsune corrects. “Don’t speak to me like I’m not here, dear, that’s very rude.” He knows he’s just fucking with Parrish this way. Explaining everything right away would just be so boring. Parrish’s confusion is beautiful.

Tastes like champagne.

Parrish begins to take on a cautious look. He is rigidly calm, as though on duty. He barely spares a glance to the hand on his throat. He breathes.

“Alright.” He says, agreeably. “What do you mean, Stiles is dying?” The nogitsune can feel his worry, but a normal human would barely be able to detect it. He’s a good actor.

“Why, he’s got the same disease his poor mom died from.” The nogitsune tells Parrish, shaking his head sadly. “But that’s not really his biggest problem, so I wouldn’t worry too much.” He smooths his free hand down Parrish’s chest, and the answering shiver of nerves is barely detectable, but he knows the deputy is afraid. Right now, he’s afraid for his boyfriend – but pretty soon he’ll learn Stiles is the only safe one in this town. Physically, at least.

“Then what is?”

“You.” He answers, as if it’s obvious. “Keeping me from using you. But there’s not much he can do, trapped in here as he is, you being such a …rich…source of potential pain and chaos.” He licks his lips, as if tasting the destruction already.

But Parrish still looks more concerned than afraid. He reaches out a hand and closes it around Stiles’s upper arm, gentle but firm.

“I think we should go see Mrs. McCall.” He says, and the nogitsune frowns, a dangerous expression.

“I don’t.” He says, and steps forward, nearly flush with the deputy again. His eyes flash. He’s hot and cold at once. “But I know what will help.” Holding back a cruel burst of laughter, the nogitsune uses his host’s hands to grip Parrish’s sides, trailing them down as Stiles warns him not to t _ouch him don’t touch him he’s not YOURS –_

But he is. Everyone belongs to the nogitsune.

He slips fingers through the deputy’s belt loops and tugs him forward. He leans forward, seals Stiles’s mouth over the deputy’s neck. He can feel the man’s confusion, but his head still tilts back just slightly, unable to resist. Some officer of the law Parrish is, so weak against the body of a teenager. His boss’s son.

The nogitsune might be in love too, if he felt love.

Stiles claws at him, and there’s an actual pang in his head, freezing him momentarily.

 _stopstopstop_ , Stiles cries.

 _No_ , he answers. He bites gently, leaving marks on Parrish’s neck.

“Hey, you can’t, someone’ll see –” The deputy protests, so the nogitsune bites harder. His little cry of pain-pleasure soaks into the nogitsune like warm sunshine.

“You mean like dear old dad?” He asks, mockingly, grinning as he pulls away. “It won’t matter. He’ll see worse by the end of this.”

Parrish looks surprised.

“Stiles. That’s enough. We’ve gotta get you to the hospital, I’m worried.”

“How sweet.” The nogitsune pauses, steps back. His hand goes slyly into his jacket, but he’s underestimated Parrish’s training, because the man has an iron grip on his wrist before the knife can reach his throat. His eyes are filled with hurt, panic, fear – but his breath is even and his hold is firm.

“Enough of this. What the hell are you? Stiles would never hurt me.” Parrish asks, voice suddenly cold. The nogitsune feels the bruising grip. It should be nothing to him, but he feels it. And he feels Stiles – grin? Suddenly, he is furious.

“What are _you_?” He bites back, snarling.

“I’m a _witch_.”

The nogitsune feels a burning sensation where Parrish is touching him. He looks down – Stiles’s skin is fine, and he’s not in screaming mental anguish, but it feels to the nogitsune like piercing heat. He collapses forward with a cry, and the deputy brings him to his knees. He hovers over him with Stiles’s wrist still in an ironclad grip, intimidating, his green eyes suddenly stormy.

“And you’d better get the hell out of my boyfriend.”

And then he’s on fire – metaphysically, at least, because Stiles in fine – in fact, Stiles is great. Stiles is practically brimming with a proud sort of joy, happiness the nogitsune has never felt shine so bright in his host.

It hurts.

He is at once furious that Stiles could have concealed this from him so easily, and even angrier that someone else has the upper hand – but his wrath is buried under layers of pain.

He hates fire.

He has already been baptized by fire once, and it is how he dies the second time, leaving an exhausted but _free_ Stiles (just Stiles) in the deputy-witch’s arms.

Sure. The nogitsune knew a lot about Stiles,  
But he didn’t know enough about his boyfriend.


End file.
